You Will Never See Him Again
by HelloDahling
Summary: AU for Letharia Vulpina-What if the Nogitsune tricked Derek instead?


**Sterek AU | The Nogitsune tricks Derek instead. (Nogitsune!Stiles: I can hear him screaming inside. He doesn't want me to hurt you. Derek: I will kill you. Nogitsune!Stiles: Not without killing him first.)**

**A/N: I didn't really make this very Sterek-y. There's a little bit towards the end, but I focused more on the prompt idea than the relationship.**

**Enjoy!**

It took much longer than it should have for Derek to convince Argent to let him leave the police station without getting some medical help—for some reason he was extremely concerned about the health and wellbeing of a werewolf who his sister had once tried to murder in cold blood—but Derek could be very persuasive when he wanted to, and soon he was dragging himself up the loft steps, wrenching the door open and stumbling through. His back still ached, some pieces of glass and wood still embedded in his flesh, and his winced at the thought of having to pull them all out later. For now, though, he decided that just taking his jacket off and having a stiff drink would be the most he could manage. He shrugged out of the shredded leather, hissing as his perforated muscles moved and tried to heal themselves around the shrapnel, and dropped it on the floor before going in search of the whiskey bottle he'd abandoned in the loft earlier that week.

As he searched, he wondered briefly where Peter was, and why he hadn't locked the door when he left. However, a brief sniff of the area around the desk told him everything he needed to know. Lydia's perfume was _everywhere_, and he assumed Peter had smelled the same thing and immediately gone out to confront her. God knows what she had been doing in here, but Derek didn't see anything that resembled a life-threatening booby trap or and weird Banshee mojo that could render him unconscious, so he let it slide. He needed to focus on healing.

_"And," _he thought to himself, eyeing the jacket still on the floor as he continued his search for the bottle, _"on finding Stiles. Or, the nogitsune. Or…the nogistune in Stiles's…body?" _He shook his head. Too much thinking, not enough drinking. He began to open and close the desk drawers, letting out a small cheer when the bottom left revealed his prize. Forgoing the labor of looking for a cup or glass, he uncapped it and was about to take a long pull when a hammering sound started on the door. Derek jumped, at first thinking it was the thunder from the raging storm that had just started, but quickly he recognized it as frantic knocking. Wary of who would be calling on him at this hour, he set the bottle down and hurried over to the door.

"Who is it?" he shouted, hoping he could be heard over the rain. He tried to lean against the doorframe, but recoiled when the wood made contact with the wounds on his shoulder. The hammering stopped, and the last voice Derek would have expected to hear reached his ears.

"Derek!" Stiles cried, slapping the door once with his palm. "Derek, for the love of God, man, let me in! I know what you're thinking, but I swear to Jesus that it's me. The _real_ me. I've got control again, I've been with Scott and Kira all afternoon, but now I can't find them and I'm _freaking out. _You've gotta help me, maybe the thing inside me made a trap for them somewhere!" He paused in his rant, but Derek was still having trouble processing that the guy they had been looking for for the past _two days_ was standing right outside his home.

"They could be dying, Derek!" Stiles continued, desperation clear in his voice. Snapping out of his surprised daze, Derek moved to the door handle.

"Yeah, Stiles, hold on! I'm opening the door," he called out, grunting at the pain as he pulled the steel panel back. A wet, lanky shape flew past him through the gap and into the main room, gasping, and Derek jumped for the second time that night—and again for absolutely no reason.

A soaked-through Stiles Stilinski stood bent over in front of him, spitting out water and trying to keep his sopping bangs out of his face. It wasn't working. Derek walked over cautiously, reaching out to put a hand on the younger boy's back as he caught his breath. Stiles shook his head, still not looking at Derek.

"Thanks, man," he wheezed. "Thought I was gonna catch pneumonia if I stood out there any longer." Derek patted his back awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

"…Yeah," he said, hating how unsure he sounded. "No problem. I'm just glad I finally found you, Argent's been working himself into a frenzy looking. And after that stunt you—I mean, the nogitsune, pulled at the police station…" Stiles stilled under his hand, his breath freezing.

"Oh, yeah. Man, I almost forgot about that," he said, his voice taking on a strange new tone. "You were there? How'd you get out alive?"

"One of the perks of being a werewolf, I guess. I don't get injured like other people do," Derek responded. "We have a high pain tolerance Stiles. It's just a natural ability. We can even take away other people's pain if we need to." Stiles tensed.

"Yeah," he muttered. "You guys do have a _penchant_ for doing that, huh?" Derek frowned. Why was he getting so upset about this? He took his hand away, suspicious of the way Stiles was behaving.

"So," Stiles continued, still bent over but acting like he hadn't noticed Derek's movement. "How hurt were you by the blast? It was pretty bad when I got there, can;t even imagine what it must have been like at ground zero."

"Oh, like I said, not to bad," Derek answered. "I've had worse."

"Really? You weren't that injured at all?"

"No, not really. A couple of splinters in my back won't slow me down for long." Stiles finally moved, standing up so he was facing away from Derek. He tilted his head.

"That's too bad." Derek took another step back and regard Stiles warily.

"What?" he asked, incredulous. "Why do you say that?"

"Because," Stiles answered, "That means I'm going to have to make the next part of this conversation that much more painful."

He turned towards Derek, eyes dark and lips curled into a wicked smirk. Derek's eyes widened, but Stiles—_"no, the nogitsune. It has been all along, idiot!" _Derek thought— was on him in a flash, whipping a long hunting knife from out of nowhere and slamming into him with it. Derek fell to the floor, the nogitsune on top of him and the blade lodged in his stomach, and he wondered how he could have ever been so stupid.

The nogitsune smiled down at him, fingers dancing along the knife handle as he pinned Derek's arms above his head. Either the creature inside Stiles had lent him extra strength, or Derek had been wrong about eh whole "skinny, defenseless" thing, because try as he might, he couldn't break the hold. The smile remained as the nogitsune watched him struggle.

"He's here, you know," it whispered, swirling it's index finger around the knife grip. Derek stopped moving and looked into it's cold, mischievous eyes.

"He misses his father, his friends. He misses you." The smirk got bigger as the nogitsune wrapped it's fingers all the way around the handle. " I can hear him screaming inside our head. He doesn't want me to hurt you." It paused. Shrugged. Then violently twisted it's wrist.

Derek screamed at the burning pain that erupted from his abdomen, trying to thrash around and shake the creature off but stopping when he realized that moved the knife even more. The nogitsune giggled—it actually _giggled_— and twisted back the other way, pulling another agony-filled groan from the werewolf beneath it.

"I'm going…to…_kill _you." Derek hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm going to…_kill_ you, and then…I'm going to…let Stiles…throw a party…on…your grave." The nogistune just sighed and shook it's head.

"You can't kill me, pooch," it said matter-of-factly, giving the knife another turn. Derek screamed again, louder. "You can't kill me. Not without killing him first." It leaned forward until it was next to Derek's ear.

"_You will never seen him again."_ It whispered. Derek tried one more time to throw it off, but it just made a tut-tut noise and leaned back again.

"Now, Derek, don't be rude to your houseguests. Actually, we're more like _family_, aren't we? I know most people think foxes look like cats, but we're not, which definitely makes us part of the same gene pool. Cousins, maybe? Oh, never mind, you don't care. I can see it in your face. Am I boring you? I'm boring you, aren't I. Shame on me." It reached the hand that was holding the knife handle up to Derek's face, placing it's fingers on his jaw and gripping tight.

"Straight to business, I like that. I like you Derek. Stiles does to, more than me—a _lot_ more in fact—but more about that later. We have work to do. Thank you for understanding that. It means a lot. Now…" Derek felt a pulling sensation all over his body, and he gasped, trying to breath as a throbbing pain coursed through him. Black veins appeared on the nogitsune's arm, and it grinned, murderous eyes burning into Derek's own.

"I believe you have something I want."

**Please let me know what you think! Also, please check out .com, who came up with this awesome prompt!**


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